


per aspera ad astra

by RK96000



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Angst, Bruce and Alfred play minor roles, Gen, Reverse Ages!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:27:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26151880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RK96000/pseuds/RK96000
Summary: Dick Grayson is eleven when he's adopted by Bruce Wayne- eleven when he loses one family and gains another.The only difference in this world is that Dick doesn't gradually gain three younger brothers but gets three older ones all at once.And then things change- for better or worse.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Comments: 46
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This pre-written fanfic is unfortunately abandoned, ends on a cliffhanger, and I have no plans of continuing it. If you'd prefer to not read this because of that, then I completely understand!

Damian stifles a sigh at yet another of Tim’s antics as he babbles on and on regarding his newest invention, and narrows his eyes as he leans across the kitchen counter. “So what was it you wanted, Father?” He coolly asks when it becomes abundantly clear no one else will. 

The sooner they got this over with, the sooner Damian can escape to his room and end this idiotic social interaction. 

Bruce’s smile becomes significantly more strained, and Damian’s heart no longer skips a beat in shock anymore as he spots a pair of bright blue eyes peeking from behind the man. 

“Oh, great. Another.” Damian stifles a scream this time. His father does know he can’t go around picking up random strays, right? Damian longs for the days when Bruce didn’t adopt every orphan that did so much as look at him. 

Tim stares for a moment before smiling and reaching out a hand to the still hiding child before awkwardly retracting it when the kid only stares at it. 

“Huh. Hi. Uh, I’m Tim, that’s Damian,” Damian doesn’t bother to hide his ire at being introduced by  _ Drake  _ of all people, “and there’s-”

“Jason,” he introduces himself with an easygoing grin. 

Bruce lets out a sigh. “Everyone, play nice, alright? Dick hasn’t had an easy time-”

Bruce is interrupted by a loud guffaw from Jason. “I’m sorry, Dick? Do his parents hate him that much? Jesus Christ, that is the-”

Damian starts when the kid gives his harshest, albeit not very harsh, glare to Jason, and nearly snarls at him, “My parents love- loved-” The kid deflates as his face crumples, his eyes filling with watery tears, stepping back behind Bruce and clinging onto the man’s business suit. 

Hm. Dead parents. An orphan. Although, it isn’t exactly a surprise given how all of Bruce’s adopted children seem to have oh-so-tragic pasts where their parents die. 

Bruce gives Jason a harsh look, although Damian observes with detachment that it seems it’s not needed as Jason shrinks into himself, and (shockingly, given his usual emotional ineptitude) offers up an apology. “Sorry, kid, uh, I mean, Dick,” he says in the utmost seriousness, causing Tim’s mouth to quirk upwards. 

“Richard Grayson,” the kid continues as if nothing had happened, stepping back out from Bruce and loosening on his grip with an unsteady smile. “But my parents call- um. Called me Dick so.” 

“Oh, well-” Tim begins but Damian decides abruptly he can’t take another second of this sappy bullshit.

“Now that the heartfelt introduction is over, if you can excuse me to my room, I have work to do,” Damian brushes himself off and leaves, lingering outside the doorway. 

“Don’t mind Damian, he’s just- well, you saw,” he can hear Tim attempt to explain as they continue on the conversation. 

“He’s a dick, you mean,” Jason falters for a second. “Not like you. But he’s an asshole.” 

“Jason!” 

“Uh. I mean. That he’s mean. There. Kid friendly language. Happy now, Bruce?” 

“Of course he and Drake would get along,” Damian mutters and scoffs, ignoring Alfred and Bruce’s eerily similar looks of disappointment as he finally left to go upstairs. 

Whatever, he rolled his eyes. They would get over it. 

Damian cast a look over his shoulder, his disdain only growing as he saw the three getting along swimmingly. 

He wasn’t lonely, he reaffirmed, despite the thought having come out of nowhere. 

He wasn’t. 

Dinner was a stilted and awkward affair.

At least for Damian.

Jason’s obnoxious stories of his adventures, Tim’s quiet snarks and remarks, and, worst of all, Dick’s stifled giggles and bright eyes all under Bruce and Alfred’s warm gazes- it all made Damian’s skin prickle and the urge to flee only grew stronger. 

“What is this?” The kid pokes at the spaghetti Alfred had made with his finger with a look of pure concentration.

“You’re not supposed to poke it,” Jason helpfully provides, the kid turning bright red and muttering an apology that Alfred waved off. 

“Spaghetti and meatballs, Dick,” Tim cocks his head. “Have you never had it before?” 

“N-No?” The kid falters. “Is that weird?” 

“Try batshit crazy,” Jason says under his breath, only giving an innocent smile to the kid when he didn’t hear him. 

“It’s fine,” Tim assures him, with a pointed look at Jason. 

“Yeah, yeah, kid, it’s totally fine,” Jason tells Dick, unconvinced. 

Alfred’s smooth voice interrupts the conversation, “Speaking of what is fine, let us converse what is not. Master Jason, have you finished your summer homework?” 

Jason only laughs. 

Tim sighed. “I have,” he offered tiredly. 

“I don’t have to ask to know that, Master Tim, but thank you regardless,” Alfred remarks, his mouth quirking up into a fond smile. 

“What grade are you in anyways, Dickie? Tim can definitely help you with it, he’s the biggest nerd in school,” Jason waves around a meatball with his fork in the air, ignoring Tim’s halfhearted glare, “but if he’s too busy, I can probably help too,” Jason glances at Damian before shaking his head and looking away, snatching a meatball from Tim’s plate while he wasn’t looking. 

Damian holds in a scoff. As if he would deign to help the kid with his summer homework. He had more important things to do. Like… be in his room. 

“Oh, I don’t know my grade? I... I was homeschooled,” the kid says quietly. “By my parents.” 

Tim makes a sickening expression of sympathy as Alfred intervenes.

“Master Dick-” Damian hears Jason stifle a snort- and how exactly did the kid get Alfred to acquiesce anyways?- Alfred sighs, and continues, “will be starting in sixth grade in a week and a half.” 

“Huh,” Tim nods to himself. “I’ll be in tenth grade, and Jason-“ 

“Can speak for himself,” Jason rolls his eyes but with no small amount of fondness. “I’m going to be in ninth grade.” 

Five sets of eyes swivel to meet Damian’s gaze. He bites back a sigh and shortly says, “Eleventh,” if only to get the attention off of him. 

“Looks like I’m the only one who doesn’t fit into the pattern,” the kid mumbles quietly enough that Damian is the only one who hears him. 

Damian ignores the twist and pull of some unnamed emotion in his stomach at the kid’s pervading sense of not belonging. 

Damian stabs his fork into his pasta. Like he cares about that dumb brat’s feelings. Especially when he’s right.

Damian stands up to leave, only for Bruce to clear his throat and level a stern gaze at him. “Damian, could you please at least try to make it through one family occasion?” His father asks through gritted teeth. 

Damian clenches his fists behind his back. “I showed up, didn’t I?” 

“No, it’s, um. It’s okay if he’d rather go than be here with me. I’m new. I’m weird,” the brat laughs self consciously, sinking into his chair. 

Great. Now if he left, he would seem like the biggest dick, no pun intended, to everyone present. 

Damian smiles sharply. “Well, you heard what he said.” 

It was a good thing he didn’t care what his so-called family thinks of him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he said, and he left without so much as a single glance back. 

Of course the brat would somehow find Damian’s hidden spot for himself in the library. He’d gotten far too lucky with Jason’s averse nature to books and Tim’s preference for reading online. 

Damian’s eye twitches before he smoothes out his expression. “Grayson,” he greets in his best attempt at neutrality (he’s fairly certain it comes off more as lightly veiled disdain). “Such a pleasant surprise,” he says, despite his tone conveying the opposite. “What did I do to deserve the absolute pleasure of meeting you here?” 

The kid shrinks back before appearing to collect himself as he attempts to smile at Damian, although it ends up coming off as a grimace. “Sorry if I’m bothering you,” he tells him and begins to back off with wide and watering eyes, looking like a kicked puppy.

Damian holds back a sigh in his utter exasperation and tries his best to smile back at him. From the kid’s suppressed flinch, he didn’t succeed.

“Listen, Grayson-” Damian starts, only for the kid to shake his head frantically and back off even faster. 

“No, no, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have assumed, Mama and Papa always say-” the kid sucks in a pained breath at the reminder of his parents and tears off. 

Damian stares as the kid flees for a moment. “I’m going to hate myself for this,” he mutters to himself before sprinting to catch up with him. Luckily, he hadn’t gone far. 

“Grayson, wait, it’s okay-” Damian says, only to be cut off as the kid launches himself at Damian and wraps his arms around him as tightly as he can. 

He blinks. Shit. What was he supposed to do now? 

Hug back, idiot, he told himself and proceeded to do exactly that. 

The kid was shaking within his grasp, Damian’s shirt getting more and more wet with tears and snot as the seconds passed (ugh). 

Despite all of that, Damian almost didn’t mind. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him in an intimate way, let alone hug him.

Dick carefully retreats from his grasp and gave Damian a big smile, although it was tempered by the tracks of tears on his cheeks and the snot he was sniffling back into his nose. “Thanks,“ he tells him quietly. 

Damian coughs. “Whatever,” he gruffly says and when the kid seems almost disappointed, he continues, “any time.” 

Dick brightens up only to dampen a moment later. 

Damian stares. The kid has mood swings left and right. 

“What is it?” Damian pokes Dick on his shoulder, who blinks up at him. 

“I didn’t want to- to bother Tim and Jay,” he mumbles miserably and glances at Damian with watering eyes (again?). Oh, wonderful, Damian dryly thinks. They have nicknames for each other. 

“You wouldn’t bother me, Grayson,” he shuffles around instead, averting his gaze until for the second time that day, Dick hugs him. When he doesn’t look convinced, Damian bares his teeth in a mockery of a smile, “Nothing bothers me.”

“Oh. Thanks, Damian,” Dick sniffles and gives him a wide smile that does make his heart skip. 

He’s just so young and small- and he reminds Damian of himself when he was younger, shaken and alone, looking for someone, anyone to comfort him. 

Damian had been alone then for a long, long time. 

Sometimes, it feels as if he still is. 

Damian squeezes Dick’s shoulder and struggles a little less than usual to give him a smile, and finds it comes a lot easier than smiling at Jason, or god forbid, Tim. 

“You don’t have to be alone when you’re suffering,” Damian recites Bruce’s words to him when he had first found him, when it was just them and Alfred, no bothersome Jason or irksome Tim. 

Dick nods energetically. “Okay! Thanks, Dami!” 

Wait, Damian narrows his eyes. Where did that nickname come from? 

Dick repeats it to himself, “You don’t have to be alone when you’re suffering.” Dick hesitates for a moment before poking him back in the shoulder. “Neither do you.” 

Damian’s eyes prickle and he blinks away what couldn’t possibly be tears. “Of course,” Damian quietly says and this time when Dick smiles at him, he thinks he finally manages to smile back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Chapters will be posted daily for nine days straight. Content warnings will be forewarned in the beginning notes and a summary and which lines to skip will be in the end notes. If you have any questions on anything, please feel free to ask me in the comments!  
> Additionally, the content warnings for the entire fic (spoilers) are: death of parents, non-graphic but semi-suicidal thoughts, death of minor characters, death of a major character (a minor), and kidnapping of a major character (a minor).


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for non-graphic, semi-suicidal thoughts from a major character (a minor); reminder that the end notes will provide a summary and say which lines should be skipped if needed!

“First day of school! Ever, for little Dickie here,” Jason announces, all smarmy, as if everyone hadn’t already been aware. 

“We’re aware,” Tim echoes his thoughts, albeit with a much softer tone. 

“Good luck, kiddo, and if anyone messes with you, my fist will find a way to their face,” Jason winks at Dick but Damian suspects by Tim’s sputters and Bruce and Alfred’s exasperated looks that Jason isn’t joking. It makes sense, though, as Jason hasn’t had anyone younger than him to spoil. 

“Thanks, Jay!” Dick grins and shoves his shoes on. “I’m ready! School is going to be so much fun!” 

Tim laughs quietly and encourages him. “Yeah, it’s always fun to learn things-“ 

Jason elbows him as Tim leans over to finish tying his shoelaces, rolling his eyes. “Kid’s probably more excited about making friends, but okay, nerd.” 

Dick’s bright gaze tracks from the two’s bickering over to Damian. 

“Hey, Damian! What’s your favorite thing about school?” Dick asks, oblivious to how both Tim and Jason freeze in their banter. 

“What? Did I do something wrong? Again?” Dick pouts. 

Tim gave Damian a cautious look. “Not necessarily,” he says carefully. 

“Getting away from this family that even god has forsaken,” Damian coolly says and slips out the door. 

Damian ignores how his heart clenches when he hears Dick say, “Does that... include me?” 

“Don’t worry about it, Dickie, Damian’s just kind of-”

“Jason. Damian just doesn’t like us very much. Any of us.” 

“Yeah, because he’s a bitch!” A beat. “Shit, sorry- fuck, I meant-”

“Jason! Jesus-”

Damian slams the door shut behind him. 

Alfred can drive them for all he cares. 

The sooner he can get away from their bullshit, the better. 

“Um... Dami?” The door clicks open and Dick appears, shifting from one foot to the other. “Jay and Tim are asking Alfred for a ride but-“

Dick falters and tears his gaze away from Damian, who only watches, vaguely horrified, as his eyes fill with tears. 

“You don’t mean what you said, did you?” 

“No.” Damian purses his lips. “Well, yes,” he amends. “But not at you.” 

Dick frowns at him. “Why do you hate them so much?” 

“I don’t hate them,” Damian icily states. “They’re just the most annoying people I’ve ever met.” 

“Oh... Sounds like you hate them, not going to lie,” Dick starts as they hear the sound of footsteps approaching. “Um, I’ll see you later. Right?” 

“Maybe,” Damian allows and luckily for him, Dick knows him well enough by now to know that is most certainly a yes. 

“Great! Bye, Damian,” he whispers in a hushed voice as Damian walks away. “Have a good first day!” 

“You too, Grayson,” Damian calls over his shoulder and ignores how light his chest feels as he leaves. 

Maybe the kid wasn’t so bad, Damian thinks, and grins.

* * *

“Straight and left,” Tim reminds Dick, eyes glued to his book as they approach the school.

“Could- uh, could one of you-“ Dick clutches the straps of his backpack, the words dying on his tongue as he watched his newly acquired siblings wander off to their own friends, Damian nowhere in sight. 

Dick’s heart sinks as quickly and deeply as an anchor in the sea. 

Or his parents falling to their death. 

“Okay,” he mutters to himself, ignoring both that train of thought and the disappointment welling within him, taking one step and then another. “Just have to get to the main office.” 

What did he expect anyways, for them to coddle him and walk him to each and every class? 

He was eleven, in sixth grade- basically a teenager. 

Although, he had thought Damian would- Well. He supposes it doesn’t matter.

Straight and left, he recites to himself, stumbling into the main office. “Hello? I’m D- uh, Richard Grayson?” 

A young man waves him over, “Here’s your schedule. Lunchroom is on the second floor, gym on the third, and your classes should mostly be on the first floor. Everything set?” 

Dick nodded, taking the schedule and leaving, struggling not to gape at the shiny floors, tall ceilings, and muted walls, and heads to his first class, slipping inside the loud classroom, taking the only seat available just as the bell rings.

“Richard, if you could come up to the front and introduce yourself,” the teacher asks with a sharp glance that makes Dick want to do anything but.

Dick drags himself from his seat and to the front, his smile dying as the feeling of all of his classmates’s judgmental gazes narrowed in on him. “I’m Richard, but you can call me Dick,” Dick blinks as an outburst of laughter erupted from nearly everyone in the class.

The teacher’s hand on his shoulder tightens, their voice strained, “Class, please.” 

“I used to be homeschooled by my parents and I was in a circus, it was- it was really great and I think elephants are cool. And lions! Maybe just animals in general? I wouldn’t know, I mean, I do- I do know because- yeah.” Dick says, words flying too quickly out of his mouth for his mind to catch up before the teacher gave him a wide yet somewhat off smile. Dick scurries off to his seat, sinking into it as he heard whispers echo throughout the room regarding his name. 

He should’ve guessed from Jason’s reaction, Dick realizes, stifling a groan.

“First, we’ll be doing some basic review,” the teacher begins. “Take a worksheet and work on it. Whatever’s not done in class will be homework. Have fun.”

Dick proceeds to take a worksheet, only to stare blankly at it after he gets one. There’s a lot of numbers and a lot of lines and x’s and a whole lot of things he doesn’t understand. 

He glances around, only seeing the heads of his fellow classmates bent over the worksheets and scrawling even more numbers onto the paper.

“Hey, uh,” Dick whispers to the boy who sits directly next to him, whose worksheet is titled in rigid script, Thomas Anderson. “Could you explain what factoring is?”

Thomas Anderson sniffs instead, replying in a high, nasal voice, dripping with superiority, “We learned this last year. What is there to explain?”

“Oh,” Dick says instead. “Okay.” He glances at the teacher, but their eyes are glazed over and he remembers their grip on his shoulder, far too tight. 

“Okay,” Dick repeats in a smaller voice, his eyes burning as the numbers on his worksheet blur together into a mess, one that’s only marginally more incomprehensible than the numbers themselves.

_ Stupid _ , he thinks instead, and the word burns, but only because it’s true. 

Luckily, class ends in what seems like a blink of an eye, and Dick feels himself be jostled to the side as he stepped into the crowded hallway, a certain someone sneering at him in an incredibly nasal voice, “Out of the way, freak.” 

Dick scrunches up his face. That didn’t sound like he meant it in a friendly, teasing way. Dick shifts and tears off in the direction of where he thinks his next class is, not daring to look back.

Unfortunately enough for him, a familiar voice seems to be in his next class, and the one after that, until the bell rings once more and Dick splits from his class to speed off to the lunchroom, taking the stairs two steps at a time until he’s faced with a huge landscape, a sea of young teenagers. 

Hesitantly, he walks through the crowd, but the moment he builds up enough motivation to ask if he can sit at a particular seat, someone else sits down much more confidently. 

By the time Dick has repeated this process half a dozen times, there’s only thirty minutes left and he’s so tired of the twist and pull of his stomach that he just leaves entirely, hiding out in the nearby bathroom on a porcelain toilet. 

After those long, thirty minutes pass at last, Dick shuffles outside the bathroom and back downstairs to his next class, which luckily, doesn’t have one Thomas Anderson, along with the two classes following, and then, finally, when Dick thinks he might finally be free, he encounters the same grating voice in his final class. 

Shoving his notebooks and pencils haphazardly into his bag as quickly as he can, Dick’s heart sinks when he looks up to see Thomas Anderson staring disdainfully at him, snickering as he talks to the boy beside him. 

“Little Dick here doesn’t even know how to factor. I really don’t know what he’s doing here- or really, what he’s even doing amongst the Waynes. He doesn’t belong.”

Dick doesn’t linger in the classroom or smile at any classmates as he leaves, only studiously focusing upon the floor as everything begins to fade away into a terrible sludge of gray. 

He takes one step forward, and then another and another until finally, he’s back on the steps of this stupid school, where the pit in his stomach had begun and only continued to grow throughout the day.

_ Stupid _ , Dick thinks.  _ Stupid for thinking this day would be good, stupid for thinking anyone would like you, stupid for thinking you weren’t so stupid- stupid, stupid, stupid.  _

The words burn, thrumming fire in his veins, but only because they’re true. 

* * *

“How was your first day of school?” Jason grins at Dick and leans over to snatch a chicken leg from Tim’s plate, who only mildly protests. “Make any friends..? Or more importantly, any lady friends?” 

Tim rolls his eyes. “He’s only eleven, Jason.” 

“So?” 

Dick frowns, mentally recounting his day. Made a total of zero friends, everyone laughed at his name, and that one kid seems to have a vendetta against him. 

“Great,” Dick says instead, glancing over at Damian, who, as always, is brooding over having to spend time with his family. “How were your first days?” 

“Well,” Tim begins in a way that Dick recognizes means he’s about to start nerding out, and Dick looks over at Damian yet again, “we received the syllabus for our English class, and  _ wow _ , am I excited to study the duality of man and the intricacies-”

“Pretty boring, if you ask me,” Jason barrels right over what Tim was saying, “but I’ll take boring over actually having to do work.”

“You wouldn’t do the work even if you had any, though-”

Dick glances at Damian for the  _ third _ time when he finally picks up the hint. “Tiring,” Damian’s eyes flicker over to his own, and Dick has to hold back a grin, even as both Tim and Jason both fall silent. Alfred and Bruce are both noticeably absent and it makes the usually lively conversation even harder to maintain.

“So,” Dick kicks his feet back and forth and pretends as if the atmosphere hasn’t gone as stale as week old bread. “What are you guys doing later? I have an idea-”

Tim winces, looking anywhere but Dick, “Uh, yeah, we’re- I mean, I’m busy. Studying mathematical equations and stuff. So, rain check?”

Dick stares for a moment. Weird. But that’s okay, Jason would probably-

“Me too,” Jason blurts out. “Gonna bang a chick.”

Dick peeks a glance at Damian and his heart sinks at the resigned expression on his face. 

“Okay,” Dick says brightly, as if none of this bothers him in the slightest, and slips off his chair. “Sounds good! I’ll be in my bedroom! Having a lot of fun! Alone!”

And with that, Dick stumbles away from the dining room and the awkward silence that has somehow gotten even more awkward feels like a stench clinging to him, suffocating him as it pushes down on his chest, he knew it, he  _ knew _ it, they didn’t love him, they were going to throw him out, he would be alone forever and ever-

“Dick?”

He glances back, and feels his heart stop in his chest. “Damian?” he breathes, so slowly and carefully, afraid that if he didn’t, he would crumble into a million different pieces.  _ You don’t belong here, you don’t belong here, you don’t belong- _

“I’m-” and Damian’s expression is too welcoming, its usually harsh edges softened and smoothed over, so full of  _ pity _ for the poor little orphan boy, that he cannot bear to hear yet another word coming from his lips and-

Dick runs.

His room is dark but he shoves himself inside anyways, stumbles over the dictionaries and encyclopedias that only whisper in his ear that he doesn’t belong here, and slams the door behind him, slams it  _ loud  _ and  _ hard _ , as if to scream to the Waynes, the Drakes and Todds in this house, that he knows what they’re doing, knows that every honeyed word falling from their lips is a lie and that  _ he _ was right, he’s not wanted here, he doesn’t belong-

The room is dark, and the window is still open, and it is cold. 

They were falling, falling, falling- 

And he almost wishes he had just fallen with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lines containing semi-suicidal thoughts are the last two lines.  
> Summary: Dick wishes he had died with his parents.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for deaths of minor characters and contains the main character (a minor) being heavily injured after being assaulted by adult criminals. Check the end notes for more information!

The day begins unremarkably, as most days do.

It’s been exactly two weeks since Dick has moved inside Wayne Manor and exactly two weeks since the unfortunate passing of his parents. 

One week and six days since he’s had the only marginally less unfortunate acquaintance of one Thomas Anderson, one week and six since he learned that something was  _ off  _ in Wayne Manor- something not necessarily nefarious or sinister, but something that lurked on the undercurrent all the same, a complicated history or secret or  _ something _ that Dick was decidedly not let in on. 

It continues to be unremarkable, in the worst sort of way possible. 

Dick is quiet, much more quiet than he usually is, at breakfast, and if anyone notices, nothing is said and so Dick lingers on the edges of his family, if he can even call it that. He watches as Jason and Tim laugh over inside jokes and steal each other’s food and pretend to get mad, and as he watches, he cannot help but feel a terrible coldness settling over him, ice crystallizing further and further each second that passes.

Throughout it all, he is quiet. He sits in Alfred’s car as he drives Tim and Jason, as well as Dick, to school, and sits quietly and says nothing at all, the words sticking to his throat like molasses.

His parents are dead- and the worst part is he cannot feel anything about it.

At first, there had been tears, at first, sorrow and guilt and pain. 

And now there is nothing.

Without siblings to distract him, without people to  _ love _ , Dick has nothing to do now, nothing to do besides think and think and  _ think  _ until there are no new thoughts left to think. Think about Thomas Anderson and his terrible words (which were only terrible because they were true), think about his parents and all the time he has lost, all the memories already fading and dusty at the edges, think about all the words he had been keeping at bay and pushing away until he could finally not push them away any longer.

The day passes, slowly and unremarkably, passing as all days do, until something happens to make it utterly un- _ un _ remarkable.

* * *

The air is thin on this particular Gotham evening, fog clouding the pale moonlight. It would almost be pretty, even beautiful considering the twinkle of the stars far, far above, and any other day, Dick would probably agree. 

Then again, any other day, Dick would not be bleeding out onto the dirty Gotham street as two masked men attempted to rob him of his nonexistent cash- cash which as Bruce Wayne’s, infamous playboy billionaire, newest adopted orphan, he would  _ obviously _ have. Because what kind of kid wouldn’t bring hundreds of dollars in cash to a simple, unremarkable school day?

And, of course, any other day, Dick would probably not be preoccupied with the vigilante who has now swooped in front of him, ever so foreboding. 

“Get the fuck away from him.”

Dick’s head throbs. Slow and heavy. An ice pick chipping away at his brain with each thud. His arm aches, the pain dull but he can still hear the terrible sound it made when it cracked against the red brick, can still see the red blooming upon his sweater.

A drop of blood glistens on his finger. It slips off and stains his sweater even more, periwinkle and soft and  _ ruined _ . It was Damian’s and now he’ll never let Dick borrow anything ever again because he’s screwed something up again.

The vigilante, cloaked in black with glowing eyes, swings a right hand hook into Crowbar’s head, a quiet crack right when Crowbar’s head slams onto the brick wall as Crowbar’s body thunks onto the ground, slumped over with familiar eyes.

Crowbar’s friend, Bare Hands, looks scared. He’s backing away with his hands up, stumbling over his feet and eyes wide open. 

If his parents knew what had been coming, maybe they would’ve looked like him.

Dick opens his mouth to speak but the words crackle in his throat, dry and as if he’s forgotten how.

“Stop,” he croaks out- and they do.

The Vigilante turns their eyes to him. “Yes?” they say, dangerous, voice low and thrumming with thinly veiled fury. Their fingers twitch and Dick is reminded it could just as easily be him lying on the pavement, him who could’ve just as easily been lost, forgotten with no family of his own.

A single street light flickers.

They take a single step forward.

“Stop,” Dick says. “No one deserves to die.”

The blood coats his hands. His parents’ voices echo in his ears. He staggers onto his feet, shaky upon unflinching gravel. 

The world flashes black for a moment but he doesn’t need to see for everything to be so clearly laid out in front of him. 

Two steps forward, a vigilante who screams  _ dangerous _ , a vigilante as sharp and unyielding as steel, a vigilante who is the only reason Dick is still alive. Four steps left, the man with a crowbar, the man who broke his arm and smiled at his tears, the man who has died. Six steps right, the man with no weapon, the man who at the last moment tried to save Dick’s life (and the one who failed), the man who is-

“Apologies, Grayson,” the vigilante smiles, slow, and then, between one blink and the next, he strikes. 

Six steps right, the man with no weapon, the man who tried (and failed) to save Dick, the man who has died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to skip the deaths and what leads up to it or Dick being injured, it might be better to just completely skip the second half of this chapter- however, if you'd only like to skip the moments where people died/are dead and, then you can read up until "It was Damian’s and now he’ll never let Dick borrow anything ever again because he’s screwed something up again."  
> Summary: Dick is attacked by criminals when a vigilante swoops in and murders them for assaulting Dick.


	4. Chapter 4

Only a few days have passed since the incident but it’s all Dick can think about, the mysterious figure’s words echoing in his head as if on repeat. He casts a glance at his teacher, who continues their lecture regardless of whether anyone is listening, before sighing and resuming to stare out the window. Better to look away from the terrible eyesore that was one Thomas Anderson than towards it, after all.

_ Apologies, Grayson,  _ they had said.  _ Apologies, Grayson. _

Something about it bothered him- and it wasn’t that he had witnessed two people dying for the second time at the ripe age of eleven (well, it  _ was  _ but, that wasn’t what was important).  _ Grayson.  _ Has he really made such a huge splash in Gotham as Bruce Wayne’s newest adopted son that even a vigilante knows of him?

But even beyond that, it  _ still  _ bothered him.  _ Grayson.  _ It was so formal. Familiar. But just because he only knew one person who would call him that didn’t automatically mean they were one and the same- they were probably hundreds, if not thousands, of people who used the same vaguely pretentious tone and formal manner of speaking. Probably. 

Still, the conspiracy theory wouldn’t leave his head, swirling around in his head like a terrible green pea mush- maybe Jason and Tim were in on it too! And maybe that’s why they all couldn’t hang out with him the other day, even though they had really super duper wanted to! 

A grin spreads across Dick’s face- imagine! Superhero siblings who help younger brothers do math homework by day and kick ass by night!

It’s… a really nice thought, one that makes every suspicious action by his siblings seem completely reasonable, one that almost convinces him that they do love him and he does belong but… 

His smile sours as soon as it had come. Nothing in his life has been that easy so far. Dick Grayson, world class loser, belonging with the Waynes..? Even he doesn’t need Thomas Anderson’s neverending nagging to remind him he’s just a nobody- just Dick.

The terrible reality is that his brothers aren’t superheroes and there isn’t really a reason for the seemingly endless chasm splitting them apart and that there is absolutely nothing he can do about it.

There’s something they’re hiding- Dick just doesn’t know what. 

The bell rings.

Another meaningless day over, Dick thinks bitterly, sweeping all of his school supplies into his bag haphazardly. It’s not like it matters if his math notebook full of scrabble and incomprehensible notes gets a little scuffed up or if a pencil gets lost in the backpack’s abyss- he’s not smart enough to put any of the tools to use anyways. 

Thankfully, he’s able to slink away while Thomas Anderson is distracted by a brash, loud-spoken classmate, walking through the endless halls, his thoughts heavy in his head. 

Wayne Manor’s secret, Dick resolves, is something he has to find out, or else he runs the risk of losing his newfound family just as quickly as he found them.

Spotting Alfred’s limo parked nearby, he slips inside, blinking when he sees Tim hunched over, already having whipped out a book- one different from the one he’d seen him reading during breakfast. He knew Tim was genius-level smart but he hadn’t realized he could read books fast enough to give Dick whiplash just from watching.

Dick tries to smile and opens up his mouth to say something, anything, to bridge the gap between them but nothing comes out. Each word he thinks of falls apart under further scrutiny and nothing he can say is good enough.

Luckily for him, Tim bookmarks the page and sets it aside, smiling at him as if nothing has changed within the last few weeks. 

“Hey, Dick, what’s up?”

There are a thousand things he wants to say, a thousand things he had dreamed of saying if only one of his siblings noticed him, a thousand things that suddenly seem like none of them are worth saying. 

“Good! I’ve been- uh, I mean- yes.” Dick shuts up immediately before deciding to try again, despite Tim’s face of general confusion. “Not much. Math is… not fun but it is what is.”

Tim decides to conveniently ignore the first half of Dick’s response and scrunches his face up as if deep in thought. “Math, huh- I’m not too bad at math, I can help you with that when we get home if you want.”

His heart does a heavy  _ thump  _ in his chest. “You would want to spend time with me?” Dick hesitantly asks instead, hoping the offer won’t be retracted as soon as Tim remembers who he’s talking to. 

Tim’s eyes take on a hard glint, although it seems a little more sad despite the tilt of a smile on his lips. “Of course,” he says instead. “The offer is good forever, by the way! I’ll always help you with math- despite how disgusting it may be,” Tim overdramatically shudders and Dick can’t help but smile at that, a small laugh bubbling from his chest. His heart warms when he thinks of how Tim doesn’t even really dislike math from what he’s seen so far, thinks of how Tim is reaching out, if only in his own way.

“I think I’ll take you up on that,” Dick grins, and a little piece of him thaws as if spring has finally arrived. “Just- uh, not today? I have… to do stuff today.” Sleuthing around the manor, mostly.

“Right,” Tim agrees slowly, eyebrows furrowed as if he was plotting his own scheme right alongside Dick. “I think I have something to do today too.”

Tim picks up his book from where he left off but even just a cursory glance would reveal he looks like his mind is a thousand miles away from the subjects of his book.

Jason hurtles into the limo, worn backpack dangling, with a manic grin on his face. “Floor it, Alfred!” 

Dick blinks as Jason practically climbs over him to get to the middle seat, cackling all the way as Alfred proceeded to drive away from the school, just in time as a familiar figure emerged from the school with an ugly, furious grimace on his face and drenched in chocolate milk from head to toe.

“Hey, Jay,” Dick begins, slowly, as if he’s learning how to speak all over again, the words clumsy. “What exactly was that all about? Was that-”

Jason turns back to him, his grin finally letting up and becoming a little more genuine, a little more familiar to the Jason he knows, when he sees Dick. “Uh, maybe later, kiddo?” He laughs a little too hard, eyeing Alfred, who is resolutely looking away from them and towards the road.

“Later,” Dick dubiously agrees before sighing and settling further into his seat. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Soon enough, Wayne Manor rolls into view, Dick slipping outside the car and into the Manor as quickly as possible, throwing off his shoes, running up to his room and dropping his backpack off before turning back to face the door.

All Dick has to do is discover one teensy secret that the entire family knows except for him- the entire family of incredibly intelligent and affluent people who are older and have ten times more experience with life than him.

Well, Dick has always been an optimist! 

Dick smiles a little to himself, stepping outside his room, a determination settling in his bones.

Surely, it can’t be  _ too  _ hard, right?

* * *

It’s been hours. 

Dick has searched the manor from top to bottom, each nook and cranny, while avoiding his brothers as much as he can- he can’t get distracted, not now while he still has motivation coursing through his veins. 

And yet- nothing. 

Dick heaves a sigh. Maybe it’s time to call it quits. Throw in the towel.

As much as he hates to give up, it’s clear he’s making absolutely no headway, at least not with how he’s been proceeding.

He’s right back where he started and with nothing to show for it. Thomas Anderson, that absolute bastard, was completely correct. Dick Grayson was a useless, worthless, pathetic wannabe who paled in comparison to his older brothers- Tim’s intelligence, Damian’s cunning, and even Jason’s brute strength. Meanwhile, Dick couldn’t even figure out basic math, figure out the huge secret the rest of his family was keeping from him, or-

A muffled cough. A pause. A louder muffled cough. Footsteps.

Following the sound to its source, he finds none other than Tim, who is facing directly away from him. 

Highly suspicious. 

Is Tim trying to show him something without directly telling him?

Maybe it’s the Wayne Manor secret, Dick concludes, his eyes lighting up. 

Tim continues his strange clown act of stomping down the stairs, Dick following close behind, barely able to stop himself from bouncing on his heels, before he ends up before a familiar grandfather clock and winds its hands, the door swinging open in a grand reveal.

A huge cave. Well. Dick supposes that  _ would  _ be a bit of a secret, but...

“Hey, Dick,” Tim smiles, turning around to lean against the wall. “I figured you had the right to know.”

Dick blinks. That explains the clown behavior, at least. “Know what?” he asks dumbly instead, peering through the door to see-

“The Bat Cave,” and Tim walks inside as if it was nothing.

Dick follows after hesitating at the entrance, casting a glance behind at the unfamiliar shadows of the study before darting in before his nerves can paralyze him. His gaze lingers at each thing that catches his eye- a gigantic gymnasium, displays of what seemed to be mementos (of supervillains, at that), and even a sleek car.

“You’re a part of our family,” Tim explains quickly, a nervous smile tugging at his lips. “You deserve to know.”

Dick nods slowly, “The Bat Cave,” he tests out the words, an echo of Tim’s own before the implications of the words finally hit the pile of mashed potatoes masquerading as his brain and everything comes to a screeching halt.

“No,” Dick draws out, a grin spreading before he could even think to stop it. “I was  _ right _ !” 

To Tim’s obvious confusion, Dick begins to cackle wildly, wheezing as he bends over and when he can finally breathe again, he flashes his grin at Tim before hopping onto the empty counter nearby, fiddling with the wrench besides him. 

“A while ago, I thought how cool it would’ve been if you all were Batman’s sidekicks and-” Dick’s smile falters, remembering how much the thought had ended up hurting, how much it had made him sob and heave at the unfairness of it all, “and that was why you guys couldn’t hang out with me most of the time.”

“I know,” Tim says instead, and sounds far sadder than he should be. There’s something heavy tinged in his voice, something that makes Dick think he blames himself.

Dick lets out a soft exhale, getting off the counter and gently nudging Tim with his arm. “It’s not your fault, Tim,” Dick tells him resolutely, the words cementing themselves as truth, before wrapping his arms around Tim, who returns the hug after a few moments with a sad laugh.

“Only you would say that without even knowing the full situation, Dick,” Tim laughs, soft and pure and like a weight has been lifted from him, and only squeezes him tighter.

The old Grandfather clock ticks ever so faintly in the background, Dick smiling into Tim’s chest.

“Well,” a sharp voice cuts in. 

“I doubt Father will be pleased about this.”

Tim flinches, recoiling into himself and backing away a few steps with a strained smile. “Damian! So good to see you.”

“There was a reason we didn’t tell him,” Damian disregards Tim’s attempt at pleasantries. “I thought you at least knew Dick just as well as I did if nothing else but clearly, that is just yet another thing you are incompetent at.”

Something flares up in his stomach at the insult and before he can stop himself or even think about why the sting is so uncomfortably unfamiliar, he snaps, “Tim is actually the smartest person I’ve ever met, Damian. He’s- he’s not incompetent at all. If you want to call anyone incompetent, it should be me.”

Damian and Tim both stare at him after that for a while and it’s only until Dick shifts and coughs awkwardly that Tim breaks the silence by kneeling in front of him before softly speaking, quiet enough where Damian, whose expression has only been darkening since Dick spoke, can’t hear. 

“You’re enough,” Tim says, softly, despite how the words burn in his veins. “You are kind and empathetic and the best little brother anyone could  _ ever  _ ask for. And if anyone ever thinks otherwise, they will be the most _ fucking  _ wrong you could ever be about a person.”

_ Oh _ , Dick thinks as it finally all falls into place, each puzzle piece where it belongs- Damian’s cunning, Tim’s intelligence, Jason’s strength, and Dick’s kindness. He finally belongs. 

“Promise me you’ll remember that,” Tim stands back up and puts his hands behind his back as if Dick hadn’t seen how they had trembled. “Promise me.”

“I do,” Dick breathes. “I promise.”

Dick glances at Damian, whose pursed lips show he’s clearly not just abandoned the topic at hand, and winces.

And then, disrupting the relative silence, loud footsteps clambering- footsteps so loud and obnoxious that they could only belong to one person.

“Hey guys!” Jason burst into the Bat Cave, a grin on his face. 

“Alfred told me to tell you- Oh, uh, was this a bad time?” Jason eyes Damian and Tim suspiciously before laughing nervously as he sees Dick in the middle of the two. “Dick! You’re uh, in the Batcave! Okay! Well, uh, dinner’s ready so…” 

Damian sighed heavily, and with a grimace and a heated glare, told Jason, “I think dinner is going to have to wait.”

Jason glanced back at Dick, who was still resolutely staring at the floor and completely ignoring anything, before coming to his own conclusion.

“If this is about Thomas Anderson, I will  _ gladly  _ beat up a bitch,” Jason offers with a false lighthearted tone, cracking his knuckles menacingly. 

Damian perks up slightly, a dark smile spreading. “Oh?” 

“No!” Dick blurts out before either of his overprotective and much-too-quick-to-violence brothers attempts to seek revenge. “Well, yes but no- he’s just a little twerp with a bloated ego and too much money.”

Dick coughs loudly with a pointed stare. “Isn’t there something more important to be discussing?” 

Damian’s expression grows cold once again, scoffing. “Because a certain someone decided to go against orders from Father himself.”

“Oh! So that’s what happened! Cool.”

“Cool?” Damian asks instead, looking one inch away from strangling Jason.

“Well!” Jason grins. “If he didn’t, either you or I would’ve given in pretty soon. Or do you really think we all would’ve just ignored our little brother being left alone and looking all sad like an abandoned puppy for God knows how long just because of that idiot?”

Damian crosses his arms but he doesn’t say anything in response, which essentially means he can’t find any flaws with what Jason said. 

“Regardless of the inevitability of Grayson finding out,” Damian concedes, Jason sticking his tongue out at him, “there still remains the unfortunate truth of the aftermath.”

Dick scrunches his face up. “Unfortunate aftermath? You make it sound like me joining is going to doom all of us for the rest of our lives.”

Jason and Tim both freeze, and Dick watches as the smiles on their faces fall away, the color in their faces draining until their expressions resemble Damian’s. 

“Joining..?” Tim says instead. “You- Dick, you’re eleven.”

Jason laughs uncertainly and looks at Dick pleadingly as if he’ll laugh it all away like some offhanded joke. Like the idea of Dick standing on their level is unthinkable.

“Would that really be so bad?” 

“Let me reiterate a certain fact, Grayson,” Damian begins, “you are eleven. You have a much smaller and fragile body than we do. Any common criminal could knock you down in one hit.”

Dick winces and lets out a nervous laugh. It was only a few days since a few random criminals  _ did  _ knock him down with one hit and only a few days since they had-

“Then I just won’t get hit!” Dick insists instead, putting aside any other train of thought. “I’ll put all my effort into acrobatics and I won’t go after crooks alone!”

“Please, Dami. You’re all my family. I can’t live in this house all by myself, watch the clock as the hours slowly pass and not even know if any of you are hurt,” even the mere thought of doing so makes Dick hunch further into himself, his stomach turning at the thought of losing his family for a second time.

Damian’s gaze finally softens and it’s only then Dick realizes how tense Damian has been this entire time, like a taut string pulled so tight it might snap at the slightest movement. “You don’t go anywhere without one of us.”

“No…” Jason’s gaze swiveled between Damian, Tim, and Dick before finally landing on Damian again. “You’re agreeing?”

“Knowing Grayson, he would likely go out on his own and get himself injured. Compared to him getting injured alone with no one looking out for him, if someone is watching over him, he won’t get injured in the first place.” Damian smiles sardonically at Jason, baring his teeth, “Now tell me, what do  _ you  _ think the best option is?”

Edging away, Jason grimaces, “I just don’t envy the person who has to tell B-man that the eleven year old is going to be joining us.”

“I’ll do it,” Tim offers, dragging his hand over his face. “I was the one who told Dick anyways.”

“Right,” Dick grins, unable to remain grim in the face of finally learning the big Wayne Manor secret that had been haunting him for weeks (albeit with the help of Tim)  _ and  _ became part of the super-duper  _ fucking  _ cool team (if that’s what it was called) with the most awesome older brothers ever. 

More than that, Dick wasn’t a burden or worthless or didn’t belong amongst his brothers; Thomas Anderson was absolutely and completely wrong. 

Dick was  _ enough _ .

* * *

“Do you want a moment?” Damian asks, softly, voice almost swallowed up by the roar of a car as it flies past the street beneath the building of the roof they lurk upon.

Dick blinks. 

A moment, a moment- 

He doesn’t deserve a moment, he doesn’t deserve anything but that isn’t the question at hand. 

Does he want a moment? 

“Okay,” he says instead. “Sure.”

Damian lingers nearby, close enough that if he falls, he can catch him, but far enough that he feels worlds apart from his own (aching under the weight of his conscience, held up by hands stained red with the blood of those Dick loves most).

Close enough to feel his gaze burn into his back with unspoken expectations, close enough for the hair on the back of his neck to prickle as if there’s danger lurking about, as if  _ Damian  _ is the danger. Pushing him further and further back into a corner, (he asked for this, he pleaded, he begged- and now he turns back?), crushing the air in his lungs. 

(A single breeze in a single city with a single boy on a rooftop falling apart. 

A thin winter coat on top of a neon colored costume, reedy and falling apart at the seams and the last thing he has of his parents.)

And yet, he’s far enough that with each shallow breath he takes, he already knows he has failed Damian, has failed everyone who has ever loved him-

A warm hand on his shoulder, so unlike the Gotham winter’s chill, that it startles Dick out of his thoughts. He blinks, glancing up.

“Come on.” A gruff voice, not unkind, familiar. Damian. “We can try again tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Dick echoes, stumbling to his feet as Damian pulls him up, gentler than he would’ve thought. 

They walk back to Wayne Manor. Slow. Careful. Quiet.

Damian leads him through the simpler routes home and slips from the shadow behind a building to the next, their feet always safely on the pavement below.

He knows he should feel offended that his older brother doesn’t think he can handle the more adventurous vaults over rooftops and leaps onto fire escapes but he isn’t sure he should be offended if it’s true… Maybe he’s offended at himself?

Still, no matter who is or isn’t being offended, the gravel burns into his feet, licking at his heels with hot shame, a reminder of his own failure.

Damian doesn’t look back. 

Not even to see if Dick had been surreptitiously kidnapped by a horde of invisible aliens or if he had fallen down a huge (also invisible) sinkhole or, well, any other thing that could’ve very well happened… 

Not to see anything- not to see him. 

The worst part of this all, Dick thinks, is that he knows Damian is ashamed of him too.


	5. Chapter 5

Dick slips through the back door of Wayne Manor, carefully locking it behind him, glancing behind him to make sure no one was there. Perfect! His Robin outfit was stuffed inside his bag to avoid suspicion and it was precisely 1:23 am, meaning everyone else would either be long asleep or holed up in their room (cough, Damian). Now all he had to do was make it out of the manor grounds and everything would be-

“Not so fast, dickie bird.”

Dick spins around slowly and offers a weak grin to Jason, who only raises an eyebrow in response as he leans against the wall. “Heyyyy, Jay, what’s up?”

“And what exactly are you planning to do, being out so late?” Jason asks, slipping off the wall and approaching Dick with a look that says he knows entirely what Dick is doing.

Crap. “Going to hang out with my girlfriend! To have sex! I have a- yeah,” Dick’s face burns as he curses the very Jason-like lie.

“Uh-huh, and you definitely don’t have the Robin suit inside your backpack,” Jason rolls his eyes and gestures for Dick to hand over his backpack, which he only does after he gives Dick the patented Older Brother look, not even bothering to look inside as he slings it over his shoulder and heads back to the Manor. 

Frustration tugs at Dick’s stomach, he should’ve known Jason would be just as overbearing as Damian, and even Tim on occasion, he shouldn’t have trusted him-

“Well? Coming or not?” 

Dick blinks, muddled with confusion as to what Jason’s motives are, and stumbles to catch up. “What?”

Jason sighs and casts him yet another Older Brother look full of suffering, “Just follow me.” At Dick’s obvious reluctance, he gives another, louder sigh. “I’m not going to turn you in to Bruce, or god fucking forbid, Damian, god knows he would never let you out of his sight- Just trust me?”

“Okay,” Dick agrees, ignoring how his stomach flips as he sticks close to Jason as they go inside the manor and follow a very familiar route that only furthers Dick’s suspicions as to where they’re going as they end up in front of the grandfather clock, Jason easily winding the hands until the entrance to the Bat Cave opens, and he steps in.

“Alright!” Jason grabs a familiar suit off a nearby table scattered with blueprints and grins at him. “Change into your outfit thing and let’s go.”

Dick blinks. 

And then the gravity of the situation hits him like a train because holy Batman, this meant that-

“You- We’re- Patrol? Together? You’re not going to stop me? Holy shit!” Dick blurts out the first things that come to mind, stumbling into the Bat Cave, because holy shit, Jason wasn’t pulling the Older Brother card and being an overbearing mother hen?  _ Holy shit. _

Jason rolls his eyes and playfully shoves him. “What did you think I was going to do? Besides, I used to be the youngest before you showed up, even if Damian didn’t treat me with kiddy gloves like he does to you. I know what it’s like, dumbass.”

Dick beams at Jason, who squints and shields his eyes, gritting his teeth as he overdramatically exclaims, “Your smile… is too bright- please,” he gasps and falls to his knees, “it’s burning me alive-”

Dick tackles him in a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! This is so awesome!”

Jason laughs awkwardly, patting Dick on the head and lightly pushing him away. “Yeah, uh, no problem, my dude, my man, my- I’m just going to stop while I’m ahead.” And then Jason sneezed, except, he only lifted his arms up in the gesture that one would do if they were sneezing, but didn’t actually sneeze and make the sound, which was really confusing but-

“Anyways,” Dick bounces up and down on the heels of his feet, “meet up in six minutes- no, think we can do it in five?”

Jason gives him an exasperated yet fond look and heads off towards one of the changing rooms. “Make it four!” He calls back.

“Three it is!” Dick whispers to himself and grins, racing to the nearby stall to shrug his clothes off and then yanks his Robin suit on, throwing himself outside as soon as he was done, only to see Jason was already ready.

“Let’s go!” A surge of adrenaline courses through Dick’s veins, itching to patrol Gotham at his own leisure. Each nook and cranny waiting to be found, each lowlife criminal skulking around in the city, everything was his to explore.

Dick slips outside the Bat Cave, into the manor grounds and vaulting over the gate. “C’mon!” Dick can’t help but grin at Jason’s dumbfounded expression.

“That wall is twice your fucking height-” Jason sighs, unlocking the gate and going through it before locking it behind him. “Showoff.”

“Maybe,” Dick smirks and scales the nearest building, Jason wearily following him. Dick glances behind at him before he takes a deep breath and leaps to the next rooftop, shutting his eyes until he can feel solid ground underneath his feet. He wasn’t falling, he wouldn’t- he couldn’t.

“Hey, Jay, why did you let me sneak out?” Dick questions, his own voice unsteady and unsure, slowing to a halt on the roof. 

The moonlight casts a pale glow upon the city underneath an achingly empty sky, Gotham’s neon lights and signs its stars. 

“I mean, I don’t get why they think forbidding you to go out by yourself is going to work,” Jason points out with more of a grasp on the situation than Dick had thought Jason had had. “Obviously,” he gestures to Dick in his Robin costume with a sardonic grin, “it didn’t work.”

“Of course it didn’t!” Dick’s stomach twists, the world blurring around him. “I can take care of myself, I’m not useless,” Dick bites out harshly, taking in a shuddering breath that wracks his entire body.

Even if Damian and Tim and the whole world treats him as if he is, like a fragile little bird with broken bones, it doesn’t matter, he’s strong, he has to be, otherwise he thinks he’ll collapse underneath the weight of the grief he keeps tucked away, hidden far, far below where anyone could reach- 

He isn’t useless, he can’t be.

Because if he was, he would’ve broken a long, long time ago. 

“Yeah, anyone can spot that from a mile away,” Jason agrees far more easily than Dick had thought he would with eyes full of concern that only pulls at his stomach. 

“You’re just lying to me,” a sob tears its way from Dick’s throat and somehow in between one blink and the next, his knees grind into the grime-covered rooftop and what must be tears trail down the curve of his cheek and drip off of his chin, as he struggles to heave in a breath through the hiccups he cannot control, even if he tried. 

“Okay, firstly, I’m not a liar,” Jason clears his throat, matter-of-fact, before the edge to his voice softens, “and secondly, I would never lie to you.”

Dick drags his gaze from the ground to Jason, who’s kneeling down on the ground only a foot away. “You promise?” Dick bites his lip, tears welling up in his eyes again as Jason’s hand rests against Dick’s shoulder with so much ease it feels as though it had always belonged there. 

“Of course,” Jason responds softly without the slightest bit of hesitation and when Dick tumbles into his open arms, wraps him in the tightest of hugs, rubbing slow circles into his back.

This time when tears spring up in Dick’s eyes, it isn’t grief behind them but a hope so blinding it takes Dick’s breath away.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” the words fall out of his mouth as he buries his face in Jason’s chest, his breaths steadying as his thoughts finally slow to a stop, a reprieve from the guilt that tore its way to the surface every time he thought he was free from its shackles- the kind of guilt that only wrapped clammy hands around the throats of those with blood staining their hands.

“It’s no problem, kid,” Jason coughs and gives him an earnest smile that Dick shakily returns. “I would do anything for you.”

And Dick’s heart melts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an unconventional content warning for the next chapter due to its unconventional form- it's the fourth in the list of content warnings for the entire fanfic that's in the first chapter's end notes. It'll be familiar to Batman fans, but for anyone unfamiliar, I'll say what it was going to mirror in order to understand how I would've resolved that plot thread if I had continued writing this fanfic (for the most part).


	6. Chapter 6

All it takes is one mission, one secret kept between four, and one split second of hesitation. All it takes is one moment when no one is watching but somebody else is, all it takes is one strike of a baseball bat and then another and another and another, all it takes is one head to be crushed and broken for the entire body to be ruined beyond repair, all it takes is being a moment too late.

All it takes is one mission.

And just like that, Damian is gone. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for a lot of reflection on a major character (a minor)'s death.

Tim has never been enough. 

He has always been a replacement and he has always known that. 

But he has never felt so small until he has watched his brother distance himself from everyone who loves him, until he has watched his hope for Damian’s return splutter out again and again until one day, it did not spark again, until he has watched Dick emerge from Damian’s bedroom dressed in his clothing as if it means he is still alive- until he has watched Dick fade away.

He had never enjoyed going with Dick on patrols to find Damian, never enjoyed returning empty handed and yet feeling like he had lost more than if he had never gone, withering hope.

With Damian gone, it falls upon him to be the eldest brother.

And Tim is not enough. 

The worst part of it all is life goes on. Tim, Jason, and Dick go to school each and every day, as if nothing has changed, as if no one is missing. Maybe Alfred sets out an extra plate, maybe Jason looks a little more lost than he used, but to everyone else, the days march on, as they always have.

Damian was never easy to understand or to  _ want  _ to understand, and even now,  _ replacement _ still rings in his ears at a moment’s notice the second Tim finds himself lacking (and isn’t it funny to have replaced Damian as a sidekick and then as the eldest brother, always a pale imitation of the one who came before, a disgrace). 

Maybe for Tim, there is nothing to grieve.

And it makes his insides crawl to even say that, it makes him feel utterly disgusting, like the absolute scum of the earth, because it was still loss of life, and he was innocent and had a life to live and there were those who loved him and those he loved-

It’s just that he wasn’t one of them. 

“Tim?”

Tim holds back a wince at the person who would stoke his guilty conscience the most as he slips through the door to Tim’s bedroom and sits down next to him. “Dick, hey, what’s up?” He glances at Dick and feels the familiar pull of worry at his eyebags and the way he holds himself so fragilely, “You holding up okay?”

“Probably not,” Dick responds. “You’re stewing again. I can tell.”

Tim holds back a scream this time. “No- Well, yeah, but I feel bad,” he confesses lowly, “that I don’t feel bad.”

“It’s okay,” Dick says, with the same quiet cadence he says everything with now, as if he is too tired and was scrubbed raw until he was stripped clean of emotion. “I don’t either. Don’t feel anything anymore.”

Tim’s stomach drops.

“Oh,” is all he manages. 

“Oh, Dick,” says Tim, because that is all he can say. 

Tim wraps his arm around Dick’s shoulder and as Dick lays his head upon his shoulder, all he can do is wish things were different.

If only it was Damian here, he would know what to do, if only it was Tim who was lost instead, Dick wouldn’t hurt so much in the first place (he knew his worth), and if only Tim was enough.

But instead, life continues its familiar little tune, mocking him at every which turn as he falls short of every expectation, as he falls short of Damian-

Tim has never been enough.

And he knows this far, far too well.

* * *

It’s been months since Damian has gone missing, and Dick cannot bring himself to feel a single thing.

The city of Gotham has lost its allure, and with it, Robin. At first, he patrols nightly, throwing himself into his school work as soon as he gets home to leave as quickly as possible, Jason, or even Tim on occasion, joining him, but as the weeks pass, the patrols become more and more spread out and his company far and few, to the point where Dick only ventures into Gotham’s confines once or twice a week for the sole purpose of finding Damian and always alone. 

Dick had thought losing his parents had been the worst thing to have ever happened to him, that the grief that stole his breath away and drove knives into his chest was the worst thing he would ever have to bear, but where before there was a hole in his heart from his parents’ murder, now, it felt as if he had no heart at all.

There is a fog, murky and hazy and thick, and it is suffocating him with every smile he fakes and every day he lives in a world where Damian does not, it is  _ killing _ him- and yet, Dick cannot find it within himself to care. 

“Five minutes, Dick!” 

Dick glances back at the city of Gotham through the bedroom window, and wishes to feel something,  _ anything _ , but instead, there is nothing. He slips off of Damian’s bed, fingers trailing over the blankets as he does so, the bed still made just as it had been when Damian had left.

Dick leaves Damian’s bedroom and it feels as if he is leaving a piece of himself behind. 

“Dick?” He blinks, glances at Tim. “You’re wearing that to the…?”

Without knowing why, Dick’s hands curl up into fists, bunching up the fabric of the sweater that hangs loose upon him, dwarfing his small stature as the sweater’s arms swallow his arms whole and the sweater only ends a few inches before his knees.

“What about it?” Dick’s heart beats once and then twice until Tim smiles at him- or at least, he thinks it’s a smile. He isn’t sure, not anymore. 

Dick follows Tim outside as if it is to the gallows, and they both slip into the car before it steadily drives away from Wayne Manor, a grim faced Jason beside them, and Alfred and Bruce in the front (he cannot see their expressions- but perhaps it is better this way).

Somehow, in between one blink and the next, the car slows to a halt, and Dick carefully, slowly, (robotically) leaves the car, and stares at the empty casket in front of him, a picture framed above.

It is Damian’s funeral (the words taste like ashes on his tongue), and Dick finally swallows the truth that has been lurking behind every corner of Gotham and hidden within the darkest recesses of his mind. 

It’s been months since Damian has died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The entire chapter discusses the aftermath of a major character (a minor)'s death.  
> Summary: Tim, due to a strained relationship with Damian, isn't experiencing much grief from his death. Dick is unable to feel anything since Damian's death and is initially in denial but finally accepts it after months.
> 
> Additionally, Damian's death is similar to the infamous Jason Todd death + storyline where he comes back due to the Lazarus Pits.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, due to this fic being abandoned, some plot threads have gone unresolved- one that you should know for this chapter is that earlier, Damian gifted Dick a dictionary, and much like in canon, Dick chopped up certain words' prefixes and suffixes to come up with new words (for example, disaster became aster, which would mean the opposite of disaster).  
> CW for the acknowledgement of a major (a minor) character's death.

“Just… don’t tell Tim? Or Bruce or Alfred,” Dick hurriedly adds on before Jason turns to leave. “I don’t know if they’d understand. Not yet.”

“Of course,” Jason tells Dick, and it’s as if he really means it too, gently patting his shoulder with all the carefulness of a giant mountain bear. 

Dick blinks. He really didn’t expect him to agree to it. Huh. “Okay,” he drags the word out, squinting at Jason, “not at all?”

Jason mimes zipping his lips shut before chomping down on the metaphorical key, overdramatically winking at him before giving Dick a sweeping bow. “Not a single peep will be heard from me.”

“Asterous-” Dick begins to say without a hint of inflection in his voice before it breaks. 

It feels wrong. 

Like the word itself is twisted and warped far beyond what it had initially meant (a simple joy, a simple pleasure, an inside joke shared between two over a single dictionary). 

Even worse, Damian’s death wasn’t even a pain anymore, just a twinge. An uncomfortable reminder of his own failure.

When Dick doesn’t laugh or even smile, only continues to stare, Jason’s grin falters before he sighs, ruffling Dick’s hair. “Listen, kiddo, I know he meant a lot to you. If this helps you… heal, then go for it.”

“He still means a lot to me,” Dick says instead. Jason looks vaguely worried at the use of present tense so Dick waves him off. “Yeah, I mean, obviously I know he’s dead but… what he meant-” he hesitates, before forging onwards, “means to me will never change- he was my friend, my brother… So what if he’s gone?”

A creak of the floorboards, a single light switch flicked on. 

“Exactly what are you two still doing up?”

A bleary-eyed Tim squints at them from across the room, hair messed up like he’d dragged himself out of his bed kicking and screaming, the corners of his pajamas crumpled. 

“Gay rights!” Jason blurts out.

Dick stares for a second before looking back at Tim, who somehow looks even more tired than he did a few seconds ago. He decides to spare Tim from having to actually think. “Damian.”

“Not surprised. Alright, have fun, I’m heading back to bed,” Tim drags himself away, having disappeared only for ten seconds before reappearing to shove his hand onto the light switch to flick it back off, leaving Dick and Jason back in the darkness, Jason illuminated only by the pale moonlight by the window right next to him. “Don’t stay up too late!”

Dick shifts away from the night’s gentle light, tracing his fingers over the plush armchair that no one has dared use in well over months, dust motes gently floating to the floor as they fade away.

“You don’t think they would be opposed, though, right? If they knew?” Dick pulls his hand away, slowly. His heart twists. “If they would be disappointed?”

“No. Never.” Jason seems to think about it for a moment longer before a small smile twists his lips, quiet in its gentle pride. “I think you’d make a great successor to Damian’s mantle. Someone has to keep Batman in line as his sidekick.

I think you would make a fantastic Robin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lines to skip are "'Asterous-' Dick begins to say without a hint of inflection in his voice before it breaks." to "A creak of the floorboards, a single light switch flicked on."  
> Summary: Dick feels uncomfortable when he thinks about Damian and says he's still his brother, even if he is gone.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for discussion and acknowledgement of a major character (a minor)'s death along with the last thing in the first chapter's list of content warnings.

As Dick rounds the exit to the Wayne Manor, he was stricken with a sense of deja vu, stilling as he came face to face with the door. He casts another glance back, gripping onto his backpack tighter before, slowly, placing one hand on the door and pushing. One more minute, and he’ll be gone- one more minute, and no one will ever have known.

“Dick?”

Dick swallows down the familiar sting of disappointment that comes with not being good enough (stupid for getting caught, stupid, stupid, _stupid-_ ) that grows fainter each minute. 

“It’s late,” Tim quietly says, a knowing look in his eyes. 

Dick edges away from Tim. “That it is,” he agrees without saying anything else.

A silence lingers between them for a moment. There’s no question where Dick is going, no point in Tim asking nor asking him to stay, not when they both know he’ll leave anyways. 

“Just- be careful, okay?” Tim asks, a quiet plea uttered in the silence of the Wayne Manor living room, a quiet plea uttered in the hours after everyone went to sleep and before they awoke, in the hours that lingered far longer than they should. 

Dick blinks, slowly, heavily, as Tim’s question washes over him.

He opens his mouth and then closes it, unable to muster up any words within himself that feel like they matter.

He wants to be careful, wants to _want_ to be careful, so that no one will ever worry about him again, so that he can linger and fade away to static- 

He doesn’t belong, Thomas Anderson was right about that much, but maybe he never wanted to. 

Or rather, maybe it’d be better if he didn’t. 

With Damian gone, Dick slips through the cracks, finds himself falling short of words to speak to the boys he calls his brothers, he finds himself falling, and just when he thinks there’s nowhere further to fall, just when he thinks the worst is over, he only learns just how wrong he was.

It feels as though a great sadness is crashing over him, leaking through the tiniest realizations- it’s nothing and then everything all at once, it drowns him underneath its weight until it feels as though there is nothing left of Dick at all. Where once laughter came easy, now his face remains stiff, now he can’t even smile without its edges aching and creaking before it crumbles away-

Now there is nothing.

Dick drags his gaze back towards Tim and dredges up the closest remnants he can to a smile.

“Just one secret between two?” Dick offers in lieu of an apology, a ghost of a smile on his face, something wicked and cruel, the faint echoes of a scar that hasn’t yet begun to heal.

Tim hesitates, then gives him his best smile. “Just one secret between two,” he confirms. “Be careful,” Tim says, his eyes searching for something in Dick, and this time it isn’t a question.

“Of course,” Dick tells him as if it means anything at all, “I’ll be careful.”

He leaves, and pretends as if the terrible aching in his chest means nothing, as if each step is not heavy and weighted with a thousand stones, as if each breath doesn’t take a thought and then another to question whether he should breathe at all. He leaves, and pretends as if he’s fine.

Dick blinks, slowly, heavily, and breathes through the pain.

It is a terrible thing to know loss twice.

He leaves-

And Tim follows. 

* * *

“What’s a little birdie doing so far away from home and so alone?” a voice asks mockingly, a sickeningly sweet taunt. 

The Joker stands before him. He is tall, much, much taller than Robin, with oily green hair slicked back. A baseball bat in his hands, stained with dried blood. 

The Joker steps forward, lips still stretched in his sickening smile, a smile that only grows and grows as Robin’s posture becomes stiffer with each movement he makes. 

“Oh, that’s right,” the Joker leans forward, so close that his breath exhales plumes of chilled air onto Robin’s face, their faces almost touching. He can see every pore of his powdered white face, every crack in his bright red lips, every ruptured blood vessel in his bloodshot eyes. “You’re the one whose brother I killed!”

A cold hatred grips his heart, a loathing that seeps through his bones with an ache and a chill that freezes him in his step like no other. This is the man who has killed his brother, the man who has taken everything away from him, who has splintered and cracked the only family he has left. 

“I’ll kill you,” Robin says, quietly, his fingers tracing over a Batarang, sharp as steel, sharp as his will.

His comm remains at the Bat Cave, undoubtedly undisturbed. 3:36 AM. A Sunday night, or rather, Monday morning. 

He should be asleep in his bed. 

But then again, Damian should still be alive. 

The Joker throws his head back, staggering backwards, an unnatural, eerie laugh erupting from him, thin and reedy and wheezing as if his rib cage cracks each time his chest heaves. 

“Oh,” he smiles widely. “I would _love_ to see you try.”

“Really? Well then,” Robin readies the Batarang, settling into an achingly familiar stance. “Don’t mind if I do.”

The Joker lunges.

Well, fuck, Tim thinks, and despite knowing full well that he _needs_ to be thinking right now, as quickly and rapidly as he can without wasting any time whatsoever, that one thought keeps repeating in his mind over and over. 

What the fuck does he even do? What do you do when your baby brother goes toe to toe with the fucking _Joker_ , someone Batman doesn’t even want Tim interacting with, let alone Dick, someone who slaughtered their older brother without a second thought and with a wicked grin on his lips?

Oh, fuck, he is so, _so_ not prepared for this. 

And yet, Tim knows that with every second he wastes, heart beating out of his chest and lungs unable to breathe, every second, Dick inches closer to death, every second, he comes closer to proving himself a complete and utter failure. Every second he wastes, Dick comes closer to facing Damian’s fate.

Tim grips his comms unit- just one secret between two, he’d told Dick, just one secret between two, he’d lied, because soon, it wouldn’t be a secret any longer- and lifts it.

“Batman, Red Hood, come in,” he whispers, not daring to go any louder in case the Joker hears, waiting as it crackles over the line. “Dick is in trouble.”

A moment passes and then another, achingly slow.

Another second passes, with Dick fighting for his life or for vengeance or revenge or whatever sorrow or grief warped his mind so much he thought coming to fight the Joker, someone so goddamn out of his league, made any sort of sense, and then another and another until Tim finally realizes that _fuck_ , no one is coming- Batman can’t swoop in and save the day and make everything better, and why did he even think he could, when he couldn’t save Damian when he was there-

Until Tim finally realizes that no one is coming.

He is Dick’s last hope. 

Tim inhales and then exhales, slowly, steadily. A calmness, a sort of steadiness washes over him. He knows what has to be done, and he’s willing to do it.

There’s a mantle to fill and it’s his turn. 

* * *

The thing is, Robin is hopelessly outmatched.

The Joker has decades of experience- Robin? Half a year.

But still. It isn’t over until it’s over.

The Joker steps forward and sweeps underneath Robin’s feet and watches him scramble to avoid his bloody baseball bat, all with a twisted delight gleaming in his eyes. 

The Joker relishes in the hitch in Robin’s breath and in the widening of his eyes, revels in it- each flinch and each recoil is caught by the Joker and devoured, by his never straying gaze, slowly, sickening smile never quite leaving lips painted red with blood.

Robin swallows, clenches his fists harder, and wishes he could leave- wishes this was about anything else in the world, wishes there would be no consequence if he just left, wishes he even _could_ -

Damian, he reminds himself, and the coldness washes over him again, a terrible sort of stillness in which Dick steels himself to die. 

It begins with a high kick, it begins with something as simple as Tim appearing out of nowhere, cloaked in black with glowing eyes.

Hope blooms in his chest, a grin spreading across his face even as Tim pushes him away and whispers a quiet “Run”, even as it sours when he hears the note of desperation in Tim’s voice and realizes Tim would stay (and Tim would die).

“I won’t leave you to die,” Robin argues back hotly, but more importantly than the anger that washes over him is the fear- the fear that another of his brothers will die, the fear that if one did, that Dick would never recover.

“Oh, how sweet! What a touching reunion,” the Joker mimics wiping a tear from his eye and leans in, Tim pushing Dick behind him. “Unfortunately, it won’t be enough.”

The Joker cackles, something unhinged. 

“What- you didn’t think it was only me, did you?”

Robin curses under his breath, stumbling back as red blurs with black, tendrils of desperation clutching at his chest like twisted vines, pulling tighter and tighter until each breath ran ragged-

A blinding pain in his head, a heavy metal thud that registers seconds after.

And then Dick was falling, falling, falling-

To a place far, far beyond where anyone could ever follow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lines to skip for anything more than an objective, passing reference towards a major character's death are the entire middle section and the last section until "Tim grips his comms unit- just one secret between two, he’d told Dick, just one secret between two, he’d lied, because soon, it wouldn’t be a secret any longer- and lifts it."  
> Summary: The Joker taunts Dick about how he killed his brother. Dick tells him he'll kill him, the Joker laughs about that, and then they begin to fight. Tim has a very bad time as he's frozen while watching them.
> 
> ... I think typing out "a major character (a minor)'s death" so many times has killed me.
> 
> Anyways, thank you for reading this! This fanfic was a labor of love that was written over the course of nine months and I didn't even finish it in the end but it still is really important to me as my first ever actual project.
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope it brought you at least some level of enjoyment!


End file.
